


the my pace job

by straythoughts (HiraethSatisfied), UchiHime, UpsideofCrazy



Series: let's go steal a leverage AU [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Chaotic Good, Con Artists, Found Family, Gen, Hacker Jisung, Heist, Leverage AU, M/M, Multi, Set in America, Swearing, Thief Jeongin, bang chan the athlete, be gay do crimes, brief chokehold, fuck capitalism, grifter hyunjin, grifter minho, hacker seungmin, help these tags are a mess, hitter and thief felix, hitter changbin, important: brief dizziness/nausea/fainting episode at the beginning, incorrect medical terms probably, lecherous man eyeing minho up there are seven people who will gladly smite you, mastermind chan, scottish hyunjin?, some violence, sports betting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiraethSatisfied/pseuds/straythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UchiHime/pseuds/UchiHime, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpsideofCrazy/pseuds/UpsideofCrazy
Summary: Bang Chan and the chaotic good heist gang are back, this time tackling a high profile CEO of a pharmaceutical engineering company. Can they prove that he's been rigging track races for his own benefit? On your marks, get set, let's find out!
Relationships: Everyone & Everyone, Everyone/Everyone, OT8 - Relationship
Series: let's go steal a leverage AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102076
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92





	the my pace job

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello, we are Back with another installment of our Leverage AU series. As you hopefully remember, the chronological Stray Kids Korean title tracks are the main timeline, with some B-side jobs, so this is set after The Hellevator Job and the (in progress) District 9 Job. Tried to take the race/athletics theme of the My Pace music video and run with it, and then realized halfway through that SKZ literally have a song called Pacemaker lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy this, and make sure to check out the other works in the series if you haven't already.

_Bang!_

She can feel every muscle in her legs work together seamlessly, pushing off the starting block like a shot. Nice start. There’s a passing thought at the back of her mind that her coach is going to praise her for it, but it’s gone in a flash, the almost blank calm settling over her mind. 

Calm, nothing but calm. Quick breaths and quicker feet, pounding against the polyurethane surface of the track. The roar of the crowd is distant, present but pushed to the edges, an afterthought more than anything else. It’s nothing in the presence of laser focus.

The first turn, she leans into. More track is eaten up under her feet, and she flies forward, the winds at her back wishing her a good journey with gusty breath. There are bodies around her as well, but only one in front of her, just a little farther ahead. It’s that one she focuses on, not needing to tell her body twice as it’s spurred forward by adrenaline and that relentless calm. 

Closer, closer.

Slowly, she can feel herself pulling up to the opponent. Literal neck and neck, neither yielding, neither giving any quarter. But fate must be in her favor, as she decisively edges forward. More, until she can no longer see the side profile of her opponent in her periphery. More, until the presence of the other athlete next to her starts to fade away, nothing but white lines and white noise.

Slowly, her vision starts to blur at the edges. In a panic, she blinks, trying to will it away, but now there’s a faint weakness in her legs that persists, crawls its way upward. Her stomach follows suit, twisting in slight nausea, and the dizziness finally overpowers her as she faintly hears the roar of the crowd turn into a collective gasp, echoing in the distance. 

Her legs spasm violently, and she crumples to the ground. 

* * *

“It came out of nowhere,” the man says, his hands cupped around the mug. He stills a little, and raises the mug shakily to his lips again, taking a long draw before setting it down.

“You said you saw her before the race?” Chan prods gently. 

The man across the booth nods, and sets down the mug so gently he almost seems afraid of breaking it. _Nichkhun Horvejkul_ , Chan’s brain supplies again, already trying to piece together all the bits of information he has on the man so far. Nursing assistant with a side job, single dad to his daughter. It doesn’t seem like he’d have done anything to piss off a filthy rich tycoon, but then again, it could just be that he’s an ordinary citizen, easy to take advantage of. Shaking off his thoughts, Chan focuses on Nichkhun’s words again. 

“She was completely fine, told me ‘I’m gonna crush it, Dad!’ in that confident way she always does.” He chuckles humorlessly. 

“And now she’s…” Judging by the look on Changbin’s face, the bitter irony isn’t lost on him either. 

“Hospitalized, yes,” Nichkhun says softly. “Thankfully, it’s mostly muscle strain, but her knee was dislocated as well, and I just…” 

Minho wordlessly slides the plate of biscuits between them closer to their client, and Chan silently thanks him as Nichkhun takes one, though he doesn’t dip it in his tea just yet. “If it’s not too much trouble, can you recall past incidents of this?” 

Nichkhun’s brows furrow a little in thought. “She says she doesn’t feel the pacemaker anymore, but it was hard to adjust around it in the beginning. She only got it a couple months ago, but it seemed to be working for her. But her second race in the championships… She remembers feeling a little dizzy, enough to slow down, but not enough for her to stop the race or anything. Lot of them are like that, can’t let anything get between them and the track, you know?” 

Chan does know, unfortunately. “And it happened again?” 

“Fourth race as well, I think,” Nichkhun confirms, meeting Chan’s eyes, then Minho’s and Changbin’s on either side of him. “And then this one. You have to understand, I’m by no means a wealthy man, and I can’t file for a lawsuit with such flimsy evidence like a _gut feeling_. Tests were done and nothing was found wrong with the pacemaker either, but I know there’s something, I just know it. And who knows how many other athletes it’s happening to. I had to take the chance and come here.” 

Minho nods grimly. “Don’t worry. We’ll find you that evidence, and something to help pay for hospital fees and physical therapy.” 

“Thank you,” Nichkhun says, steadily meeting each of their eyes. “I wish you luck.” 

With that, he finishes the last of his coffee and leaves, a half-eaten plate of biscuits left on the table. 

Half a second later, someone leans over Minho’s shoulder to steal one of the biscuits, stuffing it into round cheeks. 

“Do you have to do that?” Minho asks. 

“Do what?” Jisung is happily munching away on the biscuit, but at least he cups his hand underneath to catch the crumbs. “Be stunningly handsome?” 

Changbin snorts, and Minho rolls his eyes, though the corners of his lips turn upward a little. “No, I meant when you appear out of thin air. Why are you down here?” he asks, but it’s too curious to have any bite.

“Just wanted to see what’s up,” he shrugs, but there’s something about it that feels a little off to Chan, something that slides away from his smile. 

“Got something you want to tell us?” Chan asks, watching him carefully. 

Jisung touches Minho’s shoulder and leans over to dust the crumbs back onto the plate. “I heard everything the guy said, and honestly, it’s not that hard to figure out.”

“What do you mean?” Changbin asks, stealing a biscuit for himself.

But Jisung just ruffles his hair and turns around. “You owe me cheesecake, remember? Gimme the cake, and info you shall rake.” He laughs loudly as he disappears into the back toward the stairwell.

“Seriously?” Changbin complains. “He still remembers that?” 

Chan chuckles, patting his shoulder. “Well, you were half asleep. Can’t hurt to get him cheesecake anyway. He and Seungmin have been working hard for us.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Changbin grumbles, and waits for Chan and Minho to sidle out of the booth before he picks up the plate. “I’ll meet you upstairs, then. You want anything?” 

Minho loops his arm briefly through Changbin’s as they walk toward the counter. “If this is your ploy to buy us a drink, you could’ve just asked outright.” 

“Shut up!” Changbin groans, but he doesn’t push Minho away. Chan shakes his head at the both of them, falling into step with Minho as they make their way back to the loft, giggling the whole way.

* * *

“It’s actually not that hard to hack a pacemaker,” Seungmin says. It’s the first thing out of his mouth after all of them are seated around the Serious SeungSung Storytime Table, as Felix had nicknamed the sectional conference table they’d set up in Chan’s living room. 

Jisung gasps and swats his arm, standing next to him in front of the giant six-screen display they’d installed without Chan’s permission. “You aren’t supposed to just _tell_ them that!” 

Seungmin frowns. “Why not? It’s the key to the con.” 

“Because!” Jisung protests, and Minho and Changbin burst into laughter. 

“That’s what you wanted me to bribe you with cheesecake to say?” Changbin asks. “When you had to tell us anyway?” 

“Can you please have this conversation after the briefing?” Seungmin sighs. It’s a blessing in disguise, really, as it distracts the rest of them, and stops the concerned look Chan is sending Jisung. 

“Right,” Jisung says, glad for the reprieve. “So, our mark. Name’s Timothy Russo, owns Abbottronics Inc., which is a pharmaceutical engineering company, as well as sponsors a bunch of professional runners and track athletes and such, partly because he used to be one himself. Filthy rich, as usual, the whole works. Thing is, on the surface he seems pretty legit.” 

Seungmin clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “It took a little more digging than usual, but we found out that he runs an off-track betting room, too. Obviously, he learned from Pete Rose.”

“Who’s that?” Jeongin asks curiously. 

“He was a pro baseball player and manager, but he bet on games his team was a part of and got busted for it.” Seungmin’s lip curls in distaste. “Anyway, from his texts and calls, there’s no evidence that Russo does any of the betting himself. Instead, we’re pretty sure he has accomplices planted throughout, getting people to bet on athletes, and they’re different ones every time, so he must have a different way or person to contact them. Sports betting rooms are legal in the state, but what’s strange about this one is that the accomplices always walk away with the cash.”

“That’s how we knew that the pacemakers were probably being hacked even before we checked the medical records of the athletes on every team Russo sponsors,” Jisung says. Frowning, he turns toward the screen, watching the medical records flash by on the display. “Unfortunately, the pattern is the same for all of them. Athlete gets the pacemaker checked, but there’s nothing wrong, so there’s no evidence that traces back to Russo or Abottronics. Still, it’s a miracle no one’s had serious repercussions from a misdiagnosis or something.” 

Felix looks even more worried at that. “So they could die?” 

“It’s not likely?” Jisung offers. “So far, the athlete’s symptoms mostly seem to point to dehydration or overheating, not something deadlier like heat stroke.” 

“But if this long-term injury happened to Horvejkul’s daughter, it could be worse for someone else,” Hyunjin points out. 

Jeongin produces a tool from who knows where, spinning it around mindlessly, and maybe Jisung fears for the integrity of his fingers. “It’ll be harder to prove the pacemaker thing. Unless we don’t have to?”

Chan gets up to pace behind the sectional with what Jisung thinks of as his thinking face. Jisung is at a loss himself. It seems like Russo and his circle is running a wire game on unsuspecting people, but he’s not too familiar with the different types of cons. That’s more Minho and Chan’s specialty. 

“Trojan Horse?” Minho offers. “Or we could turn the wire game on them.” 

Chan shakes his head. “No, there’s something missing. Give me some time to think about it.”

The rest of them fall quiet, giving Chan space to think. Jisung looks around at the rest of them sitting on the couches, and is surprised when he finds Changbin lifting two fingers and trying to catch his eye. Changbin awkwardly clears his throat and looks to both Jisung and Seungmin.

“So, bad timing maybe, but you’ve both obviously done a lot of work in such a short amount of time, so I got you cheesecake and Hot Cheetos and fried chicken.” He leans down to lift something from near his feet, and places two reusable plastic bags on the counter in front of him and pushes them gently toward the two hackers. “Okay, uh, enjoy and carry on.” 

Something warm and happy washes over Jisung, and he surges forward, hopping up to sit on the counter and swinging his legs over it. He means to slide completely off the counter before hugging Changbin, but his limbs don’t move in the correct order and he tumbles half into Changbin’s lap, knocking into him with a little grunt. Thankfully, Changbin has quick reflexes and firmly catches him around the hips before he can actually injure himself, and Jisung clutches onto Changbin’s shoulders tightly to avoid falling off the stool and sticks one foot on the floor to steady himself. One of Jisung’s legs is still slung over Changbin’s lap and his chin is hooked over Changbin’s shoulder, heart beating fast. 

“Um, hi? I mean thank you? I mean sorry?” 

Changbin chuckles, and Jisung would like to think it’s not his imagination that it comes out a little breathy from how close they are. But someone, probably Seungmin, clears his throat, and the both of them quickly let go. “What were you even trying to accomplish?” 

“Just a hug!” Jisung says defensively. “I wanted to look cool, okay?” 

“If your idea of looking cool is almost breaking your bones, we need to reevaluate that,” Hyunjin says, amused. 

“Shut up,” Jisung grumbles. “I’ll fall on top of you next time.” 

Jeongin snorts. “You say that like he’d think of it as a punishment.” 

Both Jisung and Hyunjin squawk in protest, and Minho leans over to high five Jeongin, Seungmin and Felix laughing in the background. Jisung groans and drapes himself backward over the table dramatically, hand to forehead. 

“Channie, they’re bullying me,” he whines. “Save me!” He draws the last syllable out, just for effect.

“In a moment,” Chan says, still preoccupied with something. 

“Chan?” Felix asks, his laughter subsiding as he stands and makes his way over to him. “What’s wrong?” 

Chan shakes his head, smiling at Felix. “Nothing’s wrong, I just think I have a plan. Or, enough plans.” 

Felix grins. “So while we were teasing Jisung, you were studying the blade.” 

“The what?” Chan asks as Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Jisung burst into laughter. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Best foot forward, boys—the first leg of this race is about to begin.”

* * *

“There he is,” Minho says, pleased to note that the English accent flows out more smoothly than he remembers. He gestures toward the track below them, which is mostly empty save for a lone figure walking back along the straightaway after having done a last round of high-knee warm-ups in the opposite direction. “How did you find him again?” 

“I was sent some recent articles,” Russo explains. He has a little twitch to his left eye that’s kind of distracting, but Minho looks past it, showing his interest until Russo continues. “He seems very promising. I don’t understand why teams wouldn’t sign him on.” 

There, the perfect opening. Minho sighs a little and looks back out toward the track, where Chan is in the middle of a sprint. “Well,” he starts carefully, locking in his accent a little more. “I suppose it would have come down to this sooner or later, but the few teams that had scouted him learned about his pacemaker, and didn’t know if it was too much of a liability.” He makes sure to inject a small amount of careful disappointment into his words, which is hard considering that he’s thinking about when Jisung had pressed a modified pacemaker against Chan’s bare chest and molded a skin graft around it with careful, precise fingers. 

He almost misses when Russo’s eyes light up just the barest fraction, but it makes him slightly more disgusted. “That won’t be a problem,” Russo says carefully, but Minho picks up the tiny details—his eye twitch intensifies, his fingers contract the slightest bit, his shoulders curl forward a fraction of an inch—that make his lie so easy to catch. “We strive to have a diverse range of athletes, and quite a few of them have pacemakers as well.” 

_“This fucker,”_ Changbin grits out in Minho’s earbud. _“Barely even hiding it at this point.”_

It’s the bite on the end of the line, though, and all Minho has to do is reel him in a little more. “You’re sure? You don’t want to see his qualifier times?” 

Russo is studying him now, no longer interested in Chan down on the track. Minho knows that expression, has seen it turned towards him at parties and clubs and—he’d rather not deal with this right now, but he can’t blow the hook he has. So he settles for a smaller smile—polite, but also coy to let him know that Minho knows what he’s doing but isn’t that easy. 

“I’ll sign him,” Russo says after a moment, still maintaining eye contact. 

“Excellent.” Minho waits until Russo is uncomfortable enough to look away before he turns as well, making his way down the stairs of the bleachers. He can feel Russo’s eyes on him as he follows, and pretends not to notice as they make their way onto the track and toward Chan. 

“Ashton!” he calls, lifting one hand in greeting. Chan startles appropriately, then turns, his cautious expression melting into relief as he nods at Minho politely. 

“Arthur,” he says, voice soft and starkly different from his usual one even though he’s breathing hard. “Who’s this…?”

Minho waits until Russo stands next to him before he gestures toward him, smiling. “This is Timothy Russo. Mr. Russo, Ashton Bauer.” 

Russo manages a smile at Chan and holds out his hand, which Chan takes carefully but gives a firm shake. “Delighted,” he says. “I’ve decided to take you on as an athlete.” 

“Like, a sponsor?” Chan asks, blinking and sending Minho a look for confirmation.

“Yes, my dear boy,” Russo says, and Minho doesn’t know whether to laugh or be sick. “If you’ll excuse me, though, I felt I should at least briefly meet you but I have a meeting to get to. I’ll be seeing you both.” 

He nods at Minho with a smile that makes Minho want to slap the twitch right out of his eye and turns, striding toward the exit and past the bleachers. Minho’s hand involuntarily clenches into a fist where it hangs at his side, but relaxes as Chan taps his knuckles against it. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, tilting his head a little. 

_“Yeah, you okay, Minho?”_ Hyunjin asks. The other grifter probably understands best out of all of them what it’s like to feel like mere eye candy, and wonder, however illogically, if there’s talent anywhere else. But Minho also knows that Chan and even the others would pull him if they saw the need, and maybe that’s what spurs him onward.

Minho lets his gaze refocus, shifting toward Chan. “My only thought is that I can’t wait to rob this guy.” 

* * *

The betting lounge isn’t like what Hyunjin had expected. 

Instead of the crowded bar he’d imagined, there’s carpeted floors and clusters of comfortable armchairs around small tables, with a row of giant monitors built into the far wall. There’s even a free refreshments table, and he is not about to pass up the chance for free lemon bars. Still, the persona he has to sell today is a fairly classy business elite, so he tries to reign in his glee, though it’s certainly hard. 

_“What are you eating?”_ Jisung prods curiously through his earpiece.

“Lemon bars,” Hyunjin says, turning away from the table. “You jealous?” 

_“No,”_ Jisung says immediately, at the same time Seungmin says, _“He totally is.”_

_“Listen here, Kim Seungmin. I don’t need you to call me out, thank you very much. I’m perfectly capable of doing that on my own.”_

Both Hyunjin and Seungmin laugh, and Changbin adds, _“I already got you cheesecake, so don’t expect me to save you any.”_

Hyunjin can hear Jisung’s gasp clearly as he grins at Changbin, who’s sitting across the lounge in case of trouble. _“Alas!”_ Jisung laments dramatically. _“I thought you cared about me, but you’ve thrown my wasted carcass out to the vultures.”_

 _“You should get some free snacks for me and Innie,”_ Felix interrupts cheerfully. 

While Jisung waxes poetic about how no one loves him, Minho asks, _“Chan? Status?”_

 _“About to take our places on the track,”_ Chan responds. _“Gonna have to take out the earbud, so Minho, I’m counting on you to take point until I’ve made it back to the locker room. Seungmin, Jisung, you know what to do.”_

Minho sighs. _“If I must.”_

It’s something Hyunjin’s wondered about him, to be honest. Minho could probably match Chan pace for pace in the Mastermind role, but he doesn’t seem to want the responsibility, which baffles Hyunjin. If he were clever enough to envision every detail of a con like they can, he’d want that kind of power, hands down. To each their own, he guesses.

For now, though, he turns back toward the room at large, scanning the incoming people for any of the accomplices Seungmin had pulled up faces for or signs of new ones. There’s more people filling the room now—elite business types like himself, couples that are clearly showing off, a couple misfits hoping to get lucky. But between all these people, he can see one or two that scan the crowd just like him, not in a casual, cursory way but with intent, looking for a mark. These ones are his targets. 

_“Hyunjin, stand for a second, please,”_ Seungmin says. _“I need to get a clearer view of the guy in the far corner with the tweed jacket, or at least get some facial recognition in.”_

“I could do you one better and go talk to him,” Hyunjin offers. From this distance, the button cam affixed to his coat isn’t super helpful anyway. 

_“Actually, yeah, good idea. I need to clone his cell phone.”_

It’s Minho’s voice that drifts through next. _“Felix can do a pass and return it to him if needed.”_

 _“But I’m not in there and don’t have anything to wear!”_ Felix protests. 

“Check in Seungmin’s bag,” Hyunjin suggests, taking another bite of the lemon bar and trying to chew quietly. “He usually has something appropriate.”

_“Don’t just offer up my belongings like that.”_

_“You let Felix wear your sweater the other day, though,”_ Jeongin points out. _“And you let me wear your beret.”_

Damn, Hyunjin wishes that were him. It’s a universal law to be soft for Felix and Jeongin, so Hyunjin doesn’t think Seungmin would let him do the same, but with Seungmin’s current track record, maybe he should try. 

“So do I go over already, or should I wait for Felix?” he asks instead, glancing at the potential mark out of the corner of his eye to make sure he hasn’t moved. 

_“You were right about Seungminnie’s clothes,”_ Felix says, his grin evident. _“So go ahead and talk to him, I’ll let you know when I’m close.”_

Hyunjin nods and sends Changbin another glance, seeing and hearing that some lady had started chatting with him. He snickers to himself at how awkward Changbin sounds before smoothly sliding through the crowd and mentally letting the mask of his persona slide over him. 

He slides neatly into the space in front of the sportsbook kiosk on the far left under the monitors showing the race, pretending to watch the monitors as the one of the screens shows the start of Chan’s race, Chan lining up along with the rest of the athletes at the starting line, placing his feet neatly against the starting blocks. Briefly, he wonders if Chan had done any track in high school, or if he’s just naturally good at any sport. He’d only trained for a month before they’d baited Russo with him, but then Hyunjin supposes he doesn’t need to be good enough to win, just good enough to not be last. 

There’s a tense moment before the starting pistol fires with a bang. 

The entire line is off like a shot, Chan right along with them. Hyunjin takes a moment to admire his bare arms as they pump at his sides, before turning to the nearest person, who just so happens to be the guy in the tweed jacket. 

“They ha’e a superstition about th’ bettin’ kiosk on th’ far left,” he says, trying not to lay on the Scottish accent too thick. He thinks he hears someone, likely Felix, choking over the comms, but ignores it, taking another bite of lemon bar. 

“Oh yeah?” the man asks once he’s confirmed Hyunjin is talking to him, like he isn’t making direct eye contact. “And what would that be?” 

Hyunjin tilts his head, letting the corner of his mouth curl up. He has a little bit of time, because this race is the 3000m and Chan still has almost seven laps to go. “Apparently, if ye touch th’ top—right, left, ‘en right—any athlete you’re hoping tae surpass another doez so.” 

_“Make sure you get his phone before you rope him in completely,”_ Minho cautions in his earbud. _“Felix, status.”_

 _“Ready whenever,”_ Felix says cheerfully. Hyunjin forces himself not to look up to find him in the crowd. 

He can tell the man is interested by the way he leans forward, and the curl of his smirk is a barely-restrained sort of cocky. “Any athlete,” he repeats. “You want a prop bet based on superstition?” It’s obvious he’s trying to rile Hyunjin up by insinuating he’s doubting him. 

“Och yeah, sure,” Hyunjin says easily, eyes flitting across the man’s clothing and spotting the obvious bulge of his cell phone in his coat pocket. Even easier than his pants pocket, then. “Mah frien’ ower there,” he starts, turning around too fast on purpose so that his lemon bar goes flying smack into the man’s face. 

“What the hell?”

“Losh, I’m _so_ sorry!” Hyunjin gasps, leaning forward to use his napkin to wipe fussily at the man’s face. At the same time, his hand slips deftly into the man’s coat pocket and slips the phone into his sleeve as he retracts it. “Let me jist get ye some more napkins. ‘at was entirely my faut.” 

“Here you go, sir!” a friendly voice chirps, and Felix is suddenly at his elbow with a bunch of napkins. Hyunjin could just about hug him, but refrains, simply taking a napkin and making a show of wiping the man’s face.

“It wasn’t that much,” the man says, a little miffed but no worse for wear. “Just let it go, I’m fine.” 

“Ah, sorry.” Hyunjin apologetically retracts the napkins, but lets the phone slide into them as he deposits the bundle back in Felix’s hands. “Coulds ye be a hen an’ dispose o’ those? Thanks agin.” 

“Sure thing!” 

Thankfully, the man misses that Hyunjin’s smile lingers for Felix just a touch too long, and he straightens himself up, dusting his jacket off as Felix leaves, phone safely transferred. 

“Now, where were we?” 

_“Two laps left, Jisung and Seungmin,”_ Minho warns, and Hyunjin can vaguely hear the two hackers cursing. _“Hyunjin needs at least one to place the bet.”_

He turns back to the man, smiling with the appropriate amount of sheepishness. He’ll buy Jisung and Seungmin a couple of seconds, then. “Ah shoulds buy ye a drink or somethin’ tae make up for it,” he offers. 

“Is that just to stop the bet?” the man laughs. “What, scared of losing?” 

_“Got it,”_ Seungmin hisses. _“He was texted earlier today. He’s an accomplice.”_

 _“Go ham, Hyunjin,”_ Jisung agrees. _“Felix, you can either give the man back the phone or just drop it on the floor near him.”_

Perfect. Hyunjin’s got this.

“Not scairt,” he scoffs. He turns to the screen, pretending to consider it as he lets his eyes settle on Chan, now starting his last lap. “Let’s say… ‘at a body. Bauer, was it?” He reaches forward, tapping out the rhythm on top of the kiosk and presses the start button, putting in the event and outcome before glancing up at the man. “Ye can set th’ wager if ye like.” 

“Three thousand,” the man says without hesitation. He must also be keeping an eye on the race, desperate to get the bet out of the way before it’s done.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow but punches in the amount. The screen lights up with a message telling him his bet has been accepted. Hyunjin takes the printed betslip and turns back to the man. “Confident, are ye?” 

“Watch him,” the man returns, jutting his chin toward the display. “He won’t pass Kutcher, it’s the last lap.” 

_Come on, Chan,_ Hyunjin thinks. _This part is all on you._

Chan and the other athlete aren’t that far apart, maybe a couple paces, and Hyunjin silently wills him forward. By some miracle, the gap between them gets smaller and smaller, and as they’re making the last turn, Chan leans into it, the finish line visible to him at the end of the straightaway. They’re about halfway around when Chan pulls forward, now clearly ahead of Kutcher even if he’s not gaining much more ground. When he hurtles through the finish line half a head or so ahead of the other athlete, Hyunjin almost sobs in relief as cheers erupt in his earbud. 

“ _Chan, you absolute madlad,”_ Changbin sighs, letting out a long exhale.

 _“Get off me, Jisung,”_ Seungmin says, sounding very jostled, but he doesn’t seem too mad about it. 

Hyunjin, unfortunately, has to get back to work, so he turns toward the man, who’s frowning up at the screen, something dark in his expression. 

“Three thoosain?” Hyunjin prompts. “Dinnae back doon on yer word, sair.” 

He turns to the machine to scan his betslip and redeem his win, but the machine beeps, flashing an error message. Something about being out of cash. 

“But ah jist put in some money m’self,” Hyunjin says, raising an eyebrow. “What th’ hell’s going on?”

The man blinks, and that’s genuine confusion on his face, and a flash of fear. Interesting. “Fine,” he snaps, “but I don’t have a lot of cash on me right now. I have to get it from where I’m staying.” 

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, not missing how the guy had avoided saying house or hotel or something. “Bettin’ without th’ walk to back up yer talk? In puir taste, mah good man. We’d best get yer cash together ‘en.”

He claps his hand around the man’s shoulders, which startles him enough to roughly shake Hyunjin off, but by then, Hyunjin has already stuck a tiny tracker on the man’s waistband, courtesy of Jisung. It’ll lead them to the stash of money, and Felix and Jeongin will do the rest. 

“Let go of me! I’ll get your damn cash, okay? Just need fifteen minutes.” 

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “How do ah know ye won’t jist donner away?” 

The man scowls and starts to undo his belt. Hyunjin steps back in alarm. 

“Whoa there, sair, ah don’t need any of ‘at. An’ we’re in a huir of a public place.” 

“Look, I don’t have anything else to give you that I could just walk away without. My father made it himself with a buckle his grandfather gave him.” The man turns, shoving the belt into Hyunjin’s hands. “Take it or leave it. I’ll be back.” 

With that, he turns and disappears into the crowd.

“What the fuck,” Hyunjin says, voice back to normal as he stares at the belt in his hands. 

_“Did he just… give you his belt?”_ Jeongin asks incredulously. 

Minho snorts. _“Smart on his part, though, giving Hyunjin a reason to trust him. But we still have work to do. Felix, Jeongin, are you there yet? Is Chan back?”_

 _“Chan is back,”_ Chan confirms, and there’s a muttered _thank god_ from Minho. Hyunjin glances at the wide monitors that are showing the next race, no Chan in sight. _“How much time do we have?”_

Seungmin hums for a moment, and Hyunjin can hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. _“Not long, probably. He’s still on the move and told Hyunjin fifteen minutes, so the stash is probably nearby.”_

_“Right. Let’s get going, then.”_

* * *

Felix pauses right above the accomplice, muscles tensing on the floor of the vent. His breathing feels loud to his own ears, but he’s gotten used to it over the years, and listens instead for the jingle of keys, for the beep of a keypad, anything that will alert him as to the kind of security on the room.

Instead of those, however, there’s a slight rumbling, and Felix rolls his eyes. _“Really? A Bramah? This is almost insulting.”_

 _“Tell me about it,”_ Jeongin agrees. _“Should we wait until he’s outside again?”_ Jeongin doesn’t like vents, so he’d wheedled Minho and Chan into letting him tail the guy on foot instead into the building. 

_“Yeah,”_ Chan instructs. _“Standby for now.”_

Felix lets his cheek smush on top of his folded arms. “I’m probably gonna need a shower after this,” he murmurs, still listening below for the sounds of the door finally being opened. When the man goes inside, he finally raises himself to a crouching position. 

_“To your left, Felix,”_ Chan tells him. 

They hadn’t had enough of a chance to find the building plans, so Felix has to rely on directions from the van, and he scoots along the vent to his left, finding a drop downward to a grate with slats that he can slightly see through if he strains. He cranes his neck forward, and can see the floor and the bottom edge of the vault door where it lies open through the grate. A moment later, there’s a pair of shoes that flashes by, and a voice that sounds frantically. 

“It’s gone!”

Felix blinks and tenses. What?

“What do you mean you know? I’m supposed to pay some guy back, and I gave him my belt and everything! You can’t just—”

There’s a pause, probably as the guy is cut off. 

“Fine, I’ll forget him. Out back? Okay, I can get there right now. Yeah. Yeah, bye.”

 _“Did you all get that?”_ Jeongin asks, voice low.

 _“Yeah.”_ Chan exhales. _“Check the vault, just to make sure.”_

Felix braces himself against the sides of the vents and shimmies down until he can knock through the grate after making sure that there’s no sound on the other side. He drops and rolls to a standing position, keeping his hands up defensively just in case. But there’s no one to greet him in the empty space in front of the vault until Jeongin steps around the corner. 

“You got the lock?” Felix asks, smiling at Jeongin. 

Jeongin isn’t looking at him, however. He steps forward, eyes narrowing as he touches the large combination wheel on the vault’s door. Without turning or touching anything else, he pulls on a handle and the door swings forward easily. 

The vault is completely empty. 

_“They probably found us out somehow, or at least know someone’s on their tail,”_ Minho says. _“Felix, Jeongin, go around back.”_

 _“Changbin, go with them. Quickly.”_ Chan sounds tense, but not panicked, so all of them nod, Felix and Jeongin sprinting according to Jisung and Seungmin’s directions toward the side of the building not facing the street. 

There’s a truck peeling out of the parking lot in the back, and it nearly misses a sidewalk sign on its way out. Felix and Jeongin hurtle to a stop, nearly stumbling into Changbin, who looks much less out of breath. 

“Fuck,” Changbin swears. Felix wholeheartedly agrees. 

They’d planned to get at least some of the money to give back to their client, enough to cover his daughter’s hospital expenses, but they’d probably only accomplished about half of what they’d meant to. Felix feels something sour settle in his stomach as he asks, “What now?”

Their own van pulls to a stop next to the curb at the entrance to the parking lot, and Chan opens the back doors so that the three of them can jog over and he can pull them inside.

“We don’t really have a choice,” Chan says. “For now, we regroup.”

* * *

Jeongin adjusts the tie Minho had knotted for him with careful fingers. It’s not tight or anything, but the nervous habit really helps sell the second-day-on-the-job vibe he’s going for. 

_“You have fake files with HR, so even if someone questions you, we’ve got you covered,”_ Seungmin assures him. 

That’s not really the part Jeongin is worried about, but he’s glad for the reassurance nonetheless. “Felix, what are my exit routes?” he asks instead, both because Felix is better at memorizing those things and because listening to him talk with his deep, smooth voice is calming.

He half-listens as Felix runs through the exit routes, starting with the initial branches and how each can vary from there. The other half of him is focused on making his way to an empty desk on the third floor of Abbottronics, Inc. After feeling like he’d failed yesterday, he’s determined to make it up to Chan and the others, even though they hadn’t seemed put out by the setback in the plan. Chan had told them that they’d simply have to settle for another approach, and because Hyunjin had already been burned as a grifter, Chan and Minho were still playing other parts, and Felix might be recognized for helping Hyunjin in the betting lounge, he’d been next in line to infiltrate Russo’s company itself as an employee.

 _“...so if you leave out the vents completely, that still leaves you with eighteen possible routes in and out if you need them,”_ Felix finishes proudly as Jeongin sits down at what is now “his” desk. 

“Thanks, Felix,” he murmurs. 

_“Anything for you, Innie,”_ Felix grins.

 _“Amazing,”_ Jisung says, impressed. _“And you just pick it all up just by glancing at the blueprints?”_

Jeongin smiles a little ruefully to himself as Felix makes an affirmative noise. He’s never been good at memorizing and directional skills, but he makes up for it in all the moving, mechanical bits. He’s good with his hands, and he supposes that’s part of why they’re a good team. Felix has never made him feel lesser for having different skills. None of the others have, for that matter. It’s always been something to be celebrated amongst them, how diverse their team is.

 _“Minho, go,”_ Chan says, breaking Jeongin out of his thoughts. 

_“Way ahead of you,”_ Minho says, and Jeongin can picture his smirk melting into a disarming smile as he saunters through the front doors downstairs. He goes silent for a minute or so before he says, _“I have an appointment for 9:30 with Mr. Russo.”_

 _“Just a moment,”_ the receptionist says, likely scrolling through their list of appointments. Thanks to Jeongin giving Jisung and Seungmin access to the company servers, Minho is on the appointment list and waved through to the sixth floor, where the receptionist tells him Mr. Russo’s direct secretary will check him in. 

Jeongin can once again picture Minho’s smile, how versatile it is for confidence and mystery and seduction and whatever else he needs it to be. Maybe if Jeongin builds the confidence himself, he can try his hand at it, and get a sense of what it’s like to be able to walk into any place and be at home. Shaking off the thought, he stands from the desk once he hears Minho talking to the secretary, and makes his way toward the stairs through a door next to the elevators. No employee wants to take the stairs if they can help it, so he only meets one other person as he makes a slow trek to the sixth floor. 

_“Ashton was telling me about some of the facilities you provide for your athletes,”_ Minho is saying to Russo as Jeongin puts one foot on the fourth floor landing. _“And while I must admit it sounds impressive, I have some doubts.”_

 _“I’m giving them what their coaches say is best for them, and the same kind of care I would’ve given myself back when I competed,”_ Russo says, much too evenly. _“I can even show you if you like, Arthur.”_

Jeongin doesn’t like his tone, and is definitely glad Arthur isn’t Minho’s actual name, or he might have to reach down Russo’s throat and pull his voice box out so he can’t say it anymore. 

_“Show me, then,”_ Minho says, and Jeongin can’t tell if his voice has dropped in anger or something else. _“You have one of your training facilities attached to this building, yes?”_

 _“The best one,”_ Russo assures him, and Jeongin really wishes he could see his body language right now. 

There’s a pregnant pause, and then Jisung says, soft but steely, _“Jeongin, they’re gone.”_

Jeongin blinks, wondering if Jisung feels the same sickly feeling that he does. He has a job to do, though, so he hurries the rest of the way up the stairs and emerges onto the sixth floor. Minho and Russo are stepping into the elevator a little ways down, so he doesn’t step fully onto the floor until he hears the doors close. 

There are a row of actual offices here instead of cubicles, and the secretary’s desk right next to the entrance to Russo’s is noticeably bigger one at one end. Therein lies the obstacle. Jeongin takes out a pair of glasses and slips them on along with the name tag he clips to his shirt as he ambles over while running a hand through his hair, trying his best to look like he sits behind a computer and deals with bullshit IT complaints all day. 

“Sorry,” he tries, and the secretary looks up, their smile carefully polite. “Mr. Russo just called IT about one of his monitors, asked for it to be checked personally whether or not he was still in his office by the time we got here.” 

“Ah,” the secretary sighs. “Right, it was glitching this morning. Go ahead.” 

They wave Jeongin through, and he silently thanks Seungmin and Jisung as he lets out a breath, now in the office completely.

 _“Great job, Innie!”_ Hyunjin praises him. _“See? Not so bad.”_

Jeongin smiles to himself a little. “Seungmin and Jisung helped make it believable.”

 _“But you sold it,”_ Seungmin says. 

“Thanks,” he says softly, starting to look around the room. “What am I looking for again?” 

_“Burner devices,”_ Chan supplies. _“Jisung and Seungmin tracked the texts sent to the accomplice and it doesn’t match with Russo’s work or cell numbers, and he’s too cautious to let any of his information out of his sight or be too far away from him, so the office is a good place to start, at least.”_

Sometimes Chan’s focus is a little intense for Jeongin, and it would be intimidating if he didn’t know Chan has a heart of gold. “Roger,” he says, glancing around for a safe or something where he can begin his search. 

_“While you’re at it, stick the USB in for us,”_ Jisung requests. It sounds like he’s munching on something, which isn’t surprising. None of them know where he keeps pulling snacks from, but it certainly helps his round cheeks, made rounder when full of food.

As if to confirm it, Seungmin hisses, _“Keep those knockoff Takis away from my keyboard.”_

 _“First of all, they’re called Turbos Flamas,”_ Jisung starts, which makes them deteriorate into bickering that Jeongin has begun to think is too hovering-at-the-edge-of-sexually-charged to be concerning. He tunes them out in favor of inserting the USB stick into Russo’s computer like they’d asked and then heads for the giant bookcase along one wall in the absence of an obvious safe. 

He’s searching along the spines as they heatedly debate the superior snack between Turbos Flamas and Hot Cheetos when he finds a book that’s thicker than the rest, but considerably lighter when his fingers pull at it. His eyes narrow, and he experimentally tilts the book toward him. No secret room or anything, but something rattles inside the book—several somethings. 

Briefly, Jeongin listens to make sure Minho still has Russo occupied, and when he hears Russo boasting about the pool he’d had built overlooking the ocean at one of his vacation houses, he rolls his eyes and flips open the cover to the book. 

It’s not a book at all, actually, but more of a box, with the center cut out to fit several phones. Jeongin exhales with a hiss of excitement, picking one of them up. It has a password, so he’ll have to leave it to Jisung and Seungmin to hack, but he puts all of them in his pocket.

As he turns away from the bookcase, however, Hyunjin’s voice is more insistent through his earbud, forcing Jeongin’s attention to it.

_“Jeongin. Jeongin! You need to get out of there, right now.”_

It takes only a moment for Jeongin’s confusion to clear, because three men and a woman enter through the office door at once, all of them looking like they could smash Jeongin to a pulp with their pinky fingers. 

“Hey there,” Jeongin starts, glad he’d put the fake book back on the shelf. “Listen, I know I was supposed to be fixing Mr. Russo’s computer, but can you blame me for being curious? Does he actually read all these books?” 

The woman raises an eyebrow as they all close in around Jeongin. Either no one is communicating with him across comms or they’re being drowned out by the roaring in his ears and the heartbeat he’s trying to control. 

“One chance,” the woman says, cracking her knuckles. “Who are you working for?” 

Logically, Jeongin knows he’s supposed to play it cool, like he has no idea what she’s talking about, but he’s no grifter like Hyunjin or Minho. He blinks, and waits for too long a moment, which seems to be enough of an invitation. Two of the men lunge toward him at once. 

His instincts kick in, and he reaches for the taser in his pocket, pulling it out and pressing the live end to one of them. The man slumps to the ground, but the second one still reaches Jeongin, and gets him into a headlock. With a forearm pressed against his windpipe, all rational thought goes out the window, and all Jeongin feels along with slight dizziness is the way he’d failed the team. 

“Hey!” a familiar deep voice barks.

With a violent jerk, the man lifts Jeongin off the ground and drops him. The sudden loss of pressure against his carotid arteries makes Jeongin stumble with the flood of relief, but he catches himself, trying to take stock of the remaining assailants. 

There are none, however, because Changbin has taken hold of Jeongin’s attacker and twisted his arm completely, then steps in to take all of their weight on his shoulder, throwing them to the ground. Felix has engaged the woman and the remaining man, feinting a jab at him and landing a solid punch to her jaw. As she stumbles, Felix grabs the man’s wrist, hyperextending his shoulder until there’s a sickening pop as it dislocates. The man cries out, and Changbin steps towards Felix to throw most of his body into his elbow as it rams into the woman’s stomach. 

Their opponents on the floor now, Changbin and Felix turn to Jeongin, worried frowns creasing their faces. 

“You alright?” Felix asks, walking over to check Jeongin over. Jeongin nods, feeling a lot less dizzy. Still, he lets Felix fuss and Changbin touch his neck gently to double check. 

_“Jeongin,”_ Chan says, sounding urgent. _“How are you feeling?”_

“I’m fine,” Jeongin says. “Seriously.”

Chan exhales. _“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to trust your word on that one. Minho’s not answering across comms, so I need the three of you to go to him. In case you run into trouble, Changbin takes point. Just make sure Minho gets out of there, and don’t touch Russo if he hasn’t left the premises yet.”_

“Not even one punch?” Changbin protests. 

_“I get how you feel, I swear. But no.”_

Felix frowns as well, and Jeongin gets it. They’ve all wanted to skin Russo alive for how he’s been looking at Minho, never mind the despicable actions he’s taken against his own athletes, but Chan probably has a good reason for the request. Maybe there will be time for it later. 

* * *

When Minho comes to, he finds himself tied to a chair. 

He doesn’t remember the last thing that had happened before Russo had knocked him out, but he keeps his eyes closed, listening in case there are guards around him. There are a couple voices, but they seem farther away, and he has to actively focus to be able to hear them. _Good_. There don’t seem to be any immediate threats. 

Opening his eyes, he takes stock of his surroundings. He’s between two large portable storage units, and from what he can see, the ceiling is held up by exposed steel beams. His eyes trail along the concrete floor until they catch on movement beyond the portables. Human figures.

Minho freezes, but they don’t seem to be focused on him, and he can only see part of someone’s back. The person seems to have their arm up, pointing at another figure, who’s completely out of sight behind the portable to Minho’s left. 

“You hired someone else to shut us down, didn’t you? Tip us off to the feds?” 

“You’re the ones who failed to rig the race. I’m not responsible for your failures, and I could just keep the money.” 

With a start, Minho recognizes the voice as Russo’s. Are the other two hackers then? It would confirm what Jisung and Seungmin had suspected.

“Or we could just kill you,” the second man offers, voice steely. “Make it look like a shootout between you and your bodyguards.”

Minho thinks it would be a waste to just kill Russo off, but to each their own, he supposes. He doubts the rest of his team would be so quick to fire a gun, either. 

With a jolt, he realizes that he can’t hear anything other than the conversation between the two men and Russo. His earbud is gone. Shit. He glances around, and notices it on the ground a foot or so away from his chair in the direction of the voices. He doesn’t think he can get to it without attracting attention, so he stays put, trying to think of what to do. 

A hand closes around his mouth, clamping down hard. Minho flinches, but doesn’t make a sound, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Got you,” Changbin breathes, barely even a puff of air against Minho’s ear. 

Minho’s shoulders relax exponentially, and he nods once, prompting Changbin to drop his hands to untie the ropes around Minho’s wrists and ankles. Once he’s free, he moves toward the earbud on the ground, but pauses.

Changbin touches his shoulder to tell him they have to get going, but Minho makes sure to flick the earbud closer to Russo and the potential hackers, hoping it’s still on, before turning back toward Changbin. They creep along the portables until they’re out of sight, then book it for the far wall and the exit. 

As they burst into fresh air, Minho spots squad cars peeling past warehouses in front of them, and he and Changbin duck behind some barrels to watch.

“Chan, we’re out,” Changbin whispers.

As if on cue, the leading vehicles skid to a stop, the doors opening and FBI agents as well as local law enforcement spilling out.

“This the place?” an agent asks, and none other than Chan and Jeongin step out of the car as well.

“Sure is,” Chan says, adjusting his FBI jacket.

The agent in charge gestures to the other cars to cover all possible exits, and waits until the warehouse is surrounded before picking up a megaphone.

“We have the place surrounded. Come out without any weapons and your hands raised where we can see them. And don’t even try any funny business, Mr. Timothy Russo and accomplices.”

It takes an agonizingly long minute or two, but the nearest door to the warehouse opens, Russo and the two other men sidling out. 

“I’ll have you know, my lawyers will be in touch,” Russo spits. “I don’t know what you think you’ve got on me, but whatever it is, it’s a setup.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” one of the other men says. “Just like you set us up to take the fall with you.”

“I don’t care right now,” the agent snaps. “We’ll talk about this at the station. Come on.”

It gives Minho great satisfaction to see all three of them manhandled into law enforcement vehicles, and he pops up from behind the barrel before Changbin can protest. 

Immediately, guns are trained on him. 

“Wait, wait,” Chan calls. “That’s one of ours. There’s another around here as well.”

“That would be me,” Changbin grumbles, standing up next to Minho. Thankfully, the guns lower.

“Thank you for your service,” the agent says, dipping their head in acknowledgement at the four of them. “We’ll take it from here.”

Chan nods and smiles brightly, coming over with Jeongin and directing his pleased look to Minho and Changbin. “Well done,” he says warmly. 

“Wait,” Changbin says, holding up a hand. “There’s something I don’t get. How did you know the hackers and Russo would be here, and at the same time?”

Minho looks to Chan, their grins matching. 

“We set it up.”

* * *

_“Seungmin, Jisung, you know what to do.”_

Chan hadn’t just been talking about cloning the accomplice’s phone during the race. Seungmin had looked toward Jisung, finding his own satisfied smirk reflected in the other’s face. 

The race had begun, and creeped on, and the both of them had been on high alert, keeping track of both Chan and Hyunjin’s movements, Minho peering over their shoulders at camera footage. Then, Chan had fallen just behind an athlete, and the two hackers had gotten signals of breaches.

They had moved seamlessly together at once, both of them tackling a different pacemaker. Seungmin had traced code in Chan’s, while Jisung had hacked into another athlete’s pacemaker. Both of the cyberattacks had been coming from the same location, not in the stadium but from a building nearby. They now had confirmation that the pacemakers were being hacked into, as well as where the hired hackers were.

“Do we send Changbin or Felix?” Seungmin had asked, fingers flying across the keys. 

Minho had shaken his head. “Just keep the hackers at bay for now. One failed hack is a coincidence, but two is sure to alert both the hackers and Russo. We’ll lure them to distrust and destroy each other instead of doing the work ourselves.”

Jisung had whistled, long and low. “Makes you glad Minho’s on our side, huh?” 

Seungmin had been inclined to agree.

* * *

Changbin shakes his head in disbelief. “So you had the hackers think someone else was onto them—maybe the feds or someone else hired by Russo—and had Russo suspect them because they failed to hack some of the pacemakers.” He gives a low whistle, impressed. “Damn.”

He’d thought Chan by himself was mastermind enough, and he’s never doubted Minho’s abilities, but the combination of them—well, something tingles under his skin. 

“Why do the work when you can make them do the work for you?” Minho shrugs. 

Jeongin looks at Minho, slightly slack-jawed. Changbin can empathize. “Is that the point of grifting?”

Minho winks at him, but it looks more like a blink, which somehow makes it all the more endearing. “Let them open the doors for you.” He reaches out and pats Jeongin’s cheek. “You did some great grifting this con.”

Jeongin honest-to-god blushes and ducks his head a little. “Thanks, Minho.”

 _“Innie did great, and so did Minho,”_ Jisung says brightly, _“and all of us! But now I feel like I should start watching sports or something.”_

 _“Now why would you do something like that?”_ Felix asks, making Changbin laugh. 

“We could watch a movie instead,” he suggests, throwing an arm over Minho and Jeongin’s shoulders each and looking at Chan. “On Chan’s couch.” 

Jeongin starts to grin as well as Chan looks mildly concerned. “Shopping trip? Or do we raid Chan’s fridge?”

Chan splutters. “Wait, what?”

“Definitely the latter,” Minho says, nodding sagely and circling his hand around Changbin’s wrist hanging from his shoulder. 

Changbin steers them past the slowly clearing squad cars, Chan protesting as he catches up. But Changbin knows that he doesn’t mind having them over, and he’ll want to celebrate a job well done, too. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders when Chan’s loft had started to feel more like home than his own apartment, especially with the rest of them there.

* * *

“This is for you,” Chan says, pushing the envelope across the table. 

Nichkhun looks like he can’t believe his eyes when he carefully slides out a check and reads the number. “This is too much.” 

Seungmin shakes his head from next to Chan. “It’ll take care of medical fees as well as any money your daughter would have made from races if she’d been running during the time she’s been in the hospital. Russo lured in other athletes with pacemakers just before the off-season ended, so we’re working on getting them their money as well.” 

“There’s a little bonus, too,” Minho adds, smiling a little from Chan’s other side. “Just because we felt like it.”

Nichkhun’s eyes are noticeably watering by now, and he reaches forward to clasp one of Minho’s hands in both of his own, gaze earnest. “I really don’t know how I could ever thank you.” 

“Your daughter could win more races,” Seungmin jokes lightly, and Nichkhun gives a startled laugh, letting go of Minho’s hand to wipe at his eyes. 

“I’ll definitely tell her that.” He shifts around a little before asking, “You told me there was a rigged betting lounge? What happened to that?” 

Chan and Minho exchange a look before Chan speaks up. “Let’s just say when Russo realized that someone was onto him, he transferred his money to an offshore account, and the government was alerted. He’ll be in prison for racketeering, embezzlement, some other white collar crime—well, you get the point.”

Shaking his head, Nichkhun murmurs, “I can imagine.” He sits up straighter and levels Chan with a grateful look. “Well, I won’t be bothering you much longer then. Thank you for this, and for everything. If there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all…” 

Chan shakes his head, his heart warming a little. “Please don’t worry about it. Take care of yourself and your daughter.” 

“Right.” Nichkhun dips his head respectfully and stands, waving as he moves toward the exit. 

Immediately, Seungmin leans forward to look at Minho across Chan. “Bit of a softie behind all that, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t sound accusatory, but there’s a surprised sort of curiosity that has Minho bristling and Chan watching them carefully. They’ve had a push and pull sort of dynamic that he doesn’t think is inherently bad, but Minho is slow to trust and Seungmin can be overly blunt, so he’s still gauging whether they’re warming up to each other like they have been to the rest of the team.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Minho says carefully, but he hesitates before he meets Seungmin’s gaze. 

Seungmin has a knowing sort of smile on his face, but it feels more soft than anything. “Uh huh,” he teases. “Well, at least I’m starting to figure you out.” 

There’s a charged moment as they stare at each other, Seungmin still smug and Minho seemingly unimpressed. But Hyunjin calls to them from the bar before he comes over, Felix in tow, and the moment is broken as the younger members of the crew drag all of them back upstairs to Chan’s living room.

And Chan wonders, to be honest. He wonders what has been going on between all of them—the protectiveness over Minho being eyed lecherously, the collective softness over Jeongin and Felix, the easy familiarity with which Jisung and Hyunjin lean into each other when they eventually get to that movie night and the way Changbin smiles at him with soft, rounded edges, offering a bowl of popcorn from the armchair. 

“If one of us pays for food, that’s our ticket to stay over, huh,” he teases.

Chan shakes his head in mock dismay. “I can’t say no to free food, but also it’s not like I have enough beds or couch space for everyone.”

“Sleepover?” Jisung asks, perking up immediately. “We can all spread out sleeping bags or blankets here. Changbin will wash them when we’re done.” 

“Oi!” Changbin protests, halfheartedly kicking at Jisung as the other takes cover behind Chan’s legs and Felix sitting back against them. “This is like the dishes thing all over again.” 

“Not our fault you can’t cook,” Jeongin shrugs. “Gotta make up for it somehow.”

Hyunjin cackles before sweetly and innocently pushing Seungmin’s puppy eyes in front of Changbin. “Now now, Binnie, you wouldn’t deny this adorable face, would you?” 

They’re absolute chaos, the movie forgotten as they excitedly make plans to sleep over, without consulting Chan, of course. But he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t let them stay anyway. Before them, with just him in the house and no one to give him a near heart attack when they pick the lock and lounge around on his couch when he steps through the door, it had been so silent. Now, there’s laughter and noise and strewn bits of snacks on the floor as they shove each other around. 

He’ll figure it out, why this feels more like home than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the finish line (I think I'm funny sometimes, leave me alone). Hope you enjoyed, and be sure to support social justice, wash your hands/wear your mask, and take care of yourself. We'll see you in The District 9 Job (or a Mixtape job, whichever comes first).


End file.
